"It sounds horribly close!" said Lisbeth.
"Sound is very deceptive, you know," I answered.
"Only last month a boat went over, and the man was drowned!"
shuddered Lisbeth,
"Poor chap!" I said. "Of course it's different at night - the river
is awfully deserted then, you know, and - "
"But it happened in broad day light!" said Lisbeth, almost in a
whisper. She was sitting half turned from me, her gaze fixed on
the bend of the river, and by chance her restless hand had found
and begun to fumble with the severed painter.
So we drifted on, watching the gliding banks, while every moment
the roar of the weir grew louder and more threatening.
"Dick," she said suddenly, "we can never pass that awful place
without oars!" and she began to tie knots in, the rope with fingers
that shook pitifully.
"Oh, I don't know!" I returned, with an assumption of ease I was
very far from feeling; "and then, of course, we are bound to meet
a boat or something - "
"But suppose we don't?"
"Oh, well, we aren't there yet - and er - let's talk of fish."
"Ah, Dick," she cried, "how can you treat the matter so lightly
when we may be tossing down there in that awful water so very
soon! We can never pass that weir without oars, and you know it,
and - and - oh, Dick, why did you do it - how could you have been
so mad ?"
"Do what?" I inquired, staring.
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